


agony

by RedgraveQueen



Category: American Horror Story
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-02 14:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedgraveQueen/pseuds/RedgraveQueen
Summary: AU. This is set in England (but not geographical so don’t worry... just so I can research easily). Misty is sectioned under the mental health act and meets a beautiful stranger who is suffering from PTSD after being blinded by an acid attack.MistyXCordelia





	1. Chapter 1

It’s totally dark, bar the glint of the fairy lights draped over my curtain rail. I can’t see them- my eyes are shut. But I know they’re there. My ears are filled with the sound of fleetwood Mac’s ‘Rhiannon’ blasting from my speaker. It’s the only thing capable of blurring my brain, distracting me from the thoughts that torture me. The thoughts that have haunted my waking hours for months... my dreams too, lately. My hand shakes as I reach for the can of cider that I have set down on the shabby coffee table in front of me. I take a big gulp in an attempt to calm my nerves. I’ve never really liked cider but right now- I can’t afford anything more. 

If I had an ounce of sense I would have spent my minuscule weekly allowance on food. But sense appears to be something I am lacking. My appetite is is practically none existent these days anyway. 

Here they come again. Those persistent, ‘sticky’, self deprecating thoughts. 

I put my hands over my ears, as if it’s going to make a difference. I squeeze them tightly; in vain. It’s very difficult to block out voices when they live inside your head. 

The CD stops and I summon the energy to pull myself to my feet. I need her voice, filling the silence. Stevie Nicks... my idol. I swear she’s the reason I’ve come this far... the reason I’ve kept going... the reason I haven’t thrown the towel in. 

I try to focus on her but the voices in my head grow louder, drowning her out. 

She’s a white witch, Stevie. I wish I was.

If I had one wish, I would... I would bring her here. To be with me. 

Maybe that wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t want to be here... in this ramshackle flat, in the cold; listening to the rain against the windows, drinking cheap cider, listening to... herself. With only miserable, psychotic, me for company. 

So maybe I would wish for an escape. From this life of anxiety and pain and bills that I can’t pay.

As quick as I turned her on- I turn her back off. I don’t want her here while I do this. 

I turn the fairy lights off. 

Darkness. 

...............................................................

Light. A bright light. It’s everywhere. 

Surely I’m not in heaven. That can’t be possible

Hell? No, it’s too bright.

Hospital. 

I must have panicked, at the last minute. I mustn’t have wanted to die. Not really, when it came down to it. I know that, because I was alone. If I’d really wanted to go last night I wouldn’t have called the ambulance.

..............................................................

A week later, apparently, I’m ‘alright’. 

Today, I’m being sectioned, under the mental health act. 

When I arrive, at my placement, a nurse comes to the door of the ambulance and tries to take me by the hand. I shake her off. I am not a child... I do not need leading. 

The building is modern and new, off the side of the general hospital. It’s a ward for the mentally ill: I read it on the wall as I enter. 

Inside, it is bright, like the hospital. There are these stupid, annoying motivational posters plastered all over the whitewashed walls. As if... as if a manic depressive will come in here and see ‘tomorrow is a new day’ and suddenly shirk the illness that has plagued them for years. 

My room is stark. There is a single bed in the far right hand corner, a wardrobe adjacent and a little makeshift dressing table to my left. Like I’ll need that. Who would I want to impress in here? 

I shiver, fearing the people I’ll come across; imagining dangerous lunatics who’ll want to harm me... then I remember. I’m one of them. They’re just like me. 

It suddenly dawns on me why they’ll allow me no possessions. They think I’m going to harm myself again. If they leave me hear I probably will. 

Later, in the day room, my fears come to the surface once again. There is a woman by the window. She’s shaking, banging her hands against the table in front of her. 

“Make this end” 

She screams. Over and over. What does she want to end? 

It doesn’t take a genius.

Its tea time and many of the girls are carted off. The few of us left have the privilege of decision.

“I’ll come soon... just getting my bearings” 

I mutter. 

Before long there is nobody left. Just me.

Then I notice a woman, sat in an armchair at the far end of the room. 

“Hello?” 

She turns around. I suppress a scream and feel evil for being horrified. 

Shes beautiful. That’s still clear to see. But her eyes are white; the area around them red and puckered and sore. 

She speaks slowly, in a low, controlled manner.

“Hello. I’m Cordelia. Are you new?” 

“Yes. I’m... Rhiannon.” 

I cringe at my own stupidity. At my own lie. 

Why would I say that? 

But... I don’t want to be me anymore. I don’t want to carry on the life I tried to end. So I play on the Creativity of my idol. I do hope she’’s be proud.

The woman is reaching out. She’s moving her hand over the table, cursing. 

She wants her phone, I realise. 

It’s an iPhone 8. Bloody hell. That must have cost a fortune. My hand hovers over it and I flash back to my poverty stricken life. How much could I get for this on eBay? 

I press it into her hand. 

“Thank-you, Rhiannon.” 

I burn with guilt. 

“Can you... see me?”

I hate myself. The minute I’ve said it, I know it’s the wrong thing to say.

She smiles though and I wonder what’s behind it.

“I was blinded in an acid attack last year. So no. I can’t see a thing. I’m as blind as a bat. I can hear you though. Feel you, near me.” 

I am still for a moment, horrified. She’s still smiling and I have no idea how to respond.

“It’s alright, miss Rhiannon. Don’t pitty me.  
I have Post traumatic stress disorder. That’s what they call it. I’m trying to get better... but there’s always an obstacle... always something in my way” 

There’s a pain in my stomach and I’m sure it’s related.

“I’m not called Rhiannon. I’m called Misty. And I have no reason in the world to be depressed and yet I just can’t live!” 

I’m shaking again now. My body is not working with my brain. I’m crying and talking senseless and I can’t stop myself.

I feel a cold hand take my own. 

“It’s alright. It’s alright, miss...Rhiannon. It’s sort of crazy In here. But don’t be scared. I’ll make sure nobody hurts you”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s dark once again. Im in my room now. I wanted so much to stay in that lounge with Cordelia. But they wouldn’t let me. They wanted me to eat their gruesome concoctions but I wouldn’t submit. The  
Weight is falling off me and I’m encouraging it. 

I will not eat. Not yet. I’m not ready. I sit back on the bed and my mind travels to Cordelia once again. Her thin, deer like frame. I wonder if she’ll be at the table this afternoon, for the dinner they’ll insist I consume. 

I think of her red, swollen eyes. How could anyone do that to such a beautiful face ? How could anyone do that full stop? 

I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m incredibly tired now so I’ve perhaps drifted in and out of sleep. 

I hear footsteps beyond my door and a familiar sense of anxiety seeps into my stomach. I push my legs beneath the duvet and turn towards the wall, feigning sleeping. My door creaks open. There are no locks. No privacy. 

“Misty?” 

I keep my head down, pressed against the pillow. 

This has happened every half an hour since I got here. Half an hourly observations... half an hourly checks that I haven’t some how managed to top myself with the scarce few harmless items they’ve let me keep. Normally they walk away though, once they’ve peered at me, seen that I’m breathing. 

Now, she remains. 

“Misty. I’m going to need you to get up. It’s dinner time.”

I don’t reply but she continues never the less. 

“We have dinner together, in the communal dining room. Unless you’d like to have it here- in your room?”

I pull myself slowly to a sitting position, knowing she’ll persist. I almost agree- considering flushing whatever they give me away but I realise she’ll stay here- watching my every move. 1-1 I wouldn’t be able to get away with it. I hate the feeling of being watched, of every move being scrutinised, assessed.

“Ok. I’ll come down”

I say weakly. 

I might as well. I don’t have to energy to put up a fight. 

......................................................................

The dining room has been designed to look homely. It’s pretty open and spacious but this claustrophobic, oppressing air refuses to leave me. I scan the room quickly, looking for Cordelia. She isn’t there.


End file.
